Elisus
by The Half Mad Muggle
Summary: After the war, Severus Snape is taking care of a damaged Albus Dumbledore - but although he tries to convince himself that he can fix his mentor, he knows that he is out of his depth - and will need the help of his friends - or risk losing Albus forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Elisus**

_Summary: The war is over. Severus Snape is hailed a hero, because he was the one who saved Harry Potter's life. People admire and adore him. So why has he seemingly disappeared?_

_I really wanted to write something different, and this suddenly hit me in the middle of last night. I thought, why can't I do things the other way around? So here is my latest offering - the title is in Latin, and I believe is meant to read "shattered" or "crushed" depending on the translation website. I think I aiming toward the former of those. Anyway, contains violence and is very much a character drama story, so will contain much angst and hurt/comfort…just in a way you have never seen from me before!_

_I will also add, this is AU, and is set after the Second Wizarding War. All will become clear as time progresses. The story also features Severus and Albus in the typical SS19 relationship — r.e., much admiration and even, dare I say it, love between the two of them. Voldemort does not appear, for he has been destroyed. This really is a story of many firsts!_

_Enough of the blathering author's note, which I do not even know if people read! I hope you enjoy, and obviously it goes without saying that reviews really do help me, I read every one and really do take note of what you say! I write for you, my wonderful readers, and that will never change._

_Enjoy ~ SS19_

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>:

"_And so, you are defeated. You see your hero? He falls. I shall destroy him, your saviour, your Chosen One." Lord Voldemort laughed a high pitched cackle and raised his wand. "Say good-bye to those you love, Harry Potter."_

_But the spell would not hit. It was never going to hit. A black whirlwind of robes and a flash of pale skin placed itself between Harry and Voldemort, head held high, hardly flinching at the red light that would surely kill him. He murmured two words, so all could hear, two words, three syllables, just two small words. Two words. "For Albus." And then there was the pain._

_But the distraction was enough, enough for a young wizard to grasp his wand and this time, he would not be stopped, for he could not be stopped._

_And then, it was all over._

* * *

><p>It was the clattering of envelopes onto a doormat that caught his attention initially. He walked down the stairs and surveyed the pile of letters that seemed increase with every passing day. Varying sizes and thicknesses somehow managed to find their way to him, despite his attempts to remain invisible. No one had, as yet, tried to track him, to find out where he was located. He was glad of that, at least. He bent to pick up his letters and heard his bones creak and crack painfully. Another night on the floor had caused the cold to seep into his very skeleton, and he knew it could not sustain such abuse for much longer. He thumbed through the post, seeing his name repeated so many times. That, of course, was no surprise. He was apparently a hero now. So the newspapers said. It was peculiar, he mused, for once he had been nothing more than scum, and now he was adored and admired, his praises sang and his name used with a revered tone. How perceptions could change so easily, from just one action. Both extremes made him uncomfortable.<p>

All he had done was been in the right place at the right time, and although he knew it had been intentional, he liked to pretend that he had not stepped between the two nemeses.

He walked into the living room, pausing to examine himself in the mirror. He had to check the scarring every day after all, perhaps because he still clang to hope. Hope that, one day, the marks would fade. His shirt was unbuttoned and he no longer favoured his collars because they irritated the still tender skin — and it made him scratch, which was no good at all. The scars and almost shiny skin covered his neck and upper torso. The result of a curse that had been meant to kill, and yet, his protective spell had lessened the effects somewhat. He was lucky to be alive.

Or perhaps unlucky. He was not really sure, any more.

His eyes fell instead on the new injuries. His left cheek marred by fingernails, dangerously close to his eye. Bruises circled his thin wrist from a hand that had gripped too tightly for too long. He turned from his reflection and threw the letters into the fireplace, watching them burn. He was no hero. He did not deserve to be a hero. He did not wish to be considered a hero.

Pouring a glass of crystal clear, cool water from the tap, he contemplated the bare and almost barren heathland that stretched out to the horizon. The window panes were dirty, he mused, wondering if he could chance cleaning them. That would mean finding water and a bucket and a sponge, of course, for he had put his wand away in a locked drawer. It was too dangerous to carry a wand, for the safety of both him and the cottage's other resident. A bird, something large and unsightly, swooped across the clouded sky and he watched it, wondering if it were a falcon or something else of that type. He hardly saw any wildlife, here. They knew to stay away too. He put the glass down and unconsciously stroked the bruising on his wrist, swallowing and wincing when his dry and sore throat complained. He ought to eat something, he supposed, but the idea of food no longer appealed to him. It simply did not agree with him — and he did not wish to spend any more time crouched over the toilet bowl, tasting the foul acid at the back of his throat. He had done too much of that since the war had ended. Vomit and tears were unpleasant.

He drank another glass and looked down at his bare feet. The kitchen tiles were cold and unforgiving. He had decided to stop wearing his boots when the laces had become a means to an end, and that was too risky too. His toenails were misshapen and worn. He had always worn too tight shoes.

His head shot upward when he heard the crash from upstairs and he winced despite himself. He raised the glass to his mouth, suddenly frightened to the very pit of his stomach, forcing himself to take another mouthful. The banging and clattering that could only represent destruction continued. He looked at the dining table and the Daily Prophet that lay closed and folded, delivered a few days before. He normally threw them away because the memories were too harsh for his companion and it caused relapses that were dangerous. His name, a question, and a large question mark. Was he dead?

"Severus!" A voice, twisted with all sorts of terrible things, seemed to howl from upstairs. He picked the paper up, staring at his photograph, staring so hard, wondering where they had found it, for he hated photographs… The shout again, and he knew he could not ignore it. He put the paper in the bin and headed for the stairs, massaging his sore wrist all the while.

He turned the handle of the door to the master bedroom, narrowly ducking as something with much sentimental value was thrown at his head and shattered into tiny pieces. He inhaled slowly, calming his raging nerves, as he stepped further into the room. Glass cut the bottom of his feet, and he wished in retrospect that he had removed the pictures from the wall. He had hoped they would be safe. Apparently not.

There was a bundle of robes in the corner of the room, curled into a small ball, arms wrapped around knees and a face hidden away. The body, for that was what it was, was shaking violently. It sounded as though it may be sobbing, but he could not tell. He knelt before the figure and reached out a hand, touching a clothed arm. "I'm here. What's the matter?"

A face looked up at him, and it was nearly unrecognisable from what he remembered. He felt the agony in his chest as pity and hatred combined to create some cruel force that was so powerful. Blue eyes fixed on his, seeming only to recognise him from afar, across a great distance. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he guessed the expression was warped.

"Severus?" The voice whispered.

He brushed a hand against wiry grey hair and nodded, only trusting his voice when he was sure it would be strong enough not to buckle under emotional stress. "I'm here, Albus. I'm here."


	2. Chapter 2

**Elisus**

_Another chapter to answer some of the questions that I know everyone has about the previous chapter. I am so glad the initial idea excited you, and don't worry, I know it was a little vague, but this should clear what has happened — what is happening — and what will happen in the future…_

_~ SS19_

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><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong>

"Here, let me open a window. It's very warm in here, Albus." Severus stood and opened the quarter-light window just a crack, not because it would make any difference, but because it gave him an opportunity to step away from Albus and compose himself fully. Seeing the once powerful and revered Headmaster of Hogwarts in such a way…he never grew used to it. Two months had passed, and as his condition deteriorated, Severus was forced to admit the cruellest truth of all. Perhaps there was no way back from this. "I need to clear up the portraits." He had to be careful not to sound accusing, for even the slightest mood change could provoke a terrible reaction.

"They were watching me." Albus replied, not looking up from the position he had adopted in the corner of the room. His voice was weak and worn and poisoned by fear.

Severus knew it was best not to argue. "Do not worry, they are gone now." These portraits had once belonged to his mother. He picked up the torn paintings carefully, knowing that they were beyond repair. Even though he did not have a wand, Albus still possessed magical essence and he had long since lost control of it. Accidental magic, and the destruction it caused, therefore, was common. "Do you want anything to eat?" He murmured, predicting the answer before it came.

Albus simply shook his head.

"I am going to get the dustpan…"

"No! Don't leave." Albus reached out a hand to Severus, raising his head, blue eyes finding Severus', "Please…please stay…"

Severus' stomach growled at him impatiently and he tried to ignore it, crossing to Albus and sitting down next to him, knowing that there was glass embedded in his feet. He pressed the soles to the carpet so that Albus did not see the blood. Blood was another trigger. Pain lanced again through his nerves and he looked away. Albus' withered fingers wrapped around his, slightly too tight for comfort. His hand was shaking. Severus looked at him with a smile, "What shall we do today?"

Albus simply stared back at him, not speaking.

"We could play chess — you are very good at chess." Severus continued, his voice as light as he could make it. "Or that nice word game we used to play at Hogwarts. Do you remember? You were always so much better at that than me."

Albus continued to stare. His eyes were suddenly empty and blank and Severus felt the dread in his heart. Inane drivel, that was the best he could do, "I think I only beat you once — and even then, you decided that I had to be cheating…" The memory was there, imprinted into his mind, and it was bittersweet. Sometimes the memories in this category could make him smile, the moments that they had shared at Hogwarts when the world was admittedly a much safer place. Other times, the same memory could make him cry.

"…Do I know you?"

This happened at least once a day, and yet…it was still hurtful for Severus to hear. He turned his eyes to Albus, "I'm Severus. You remember. We're friends. We used to teach at Hogwarts together?"

The eyes were still filled with nonrecognition. "I do not know you…"

The fingers were suddenly limp inside his own and Severus let go, "Shall we put you to bed?" He stood, trying to seem kind, when really he needed some time away, downstairs. "Albus, come on, I'll tuck you in." He reached down and carefully helped Albus to his feet, met with very little resistance. He hated it when Albus seemed to be afraid of him, too afraid to resist him, thinking that Severus might hurt him. Severus could never hurt him…

* * *

><p>Albus' room was adjacent to Severus' and had an interconnecting door, so Severus could be there quickly if he needed to be. The room was darkened by the curtains and the blinds, and had to be lit with artificial lighting. The bed was large and covered with one of Albus' favourite bedspreads from Hogwarts that Severus had managed to claim. He sat Albus on the edge of the bed and set about finding a nightshirt from the piles of clothing that littered the floor by the wardrobe. He knew that things needed to be tidied, but he did not have the energy. Not now. He pulled a white shirt from the floor and inspected it briefly. It was clean enough, he supposed, smoothing one of the creases from the sleeve. "Here. Do you want to put it on?" He passed it to Albus, who was still watching him suspiciously. "Severus Snape." He said suddenly, and Severus smiled, "That's right."<p>

Some sort of revelation seemed to occur in Albus' mind, "_My_ Severus?" He shook his head, "That can't be right. He's dead. I saw him die." His voice turned desperate, "I saw him die!"

Severus crossed to him, kneeling in front of him, "I am fine. I am alive."

"You cannot be. Who are you?" Albus demanded, pulling away from Severus, "You are not him!"

"…Please, Albus, let's just go to sleep." There was no point arguing with him when he was like this, for it achieved nothing worthy. "Let me help you with your robes." He straightened his back, focusing on the clasps near Albus' neck. Albus did not react to this for a few moments, when he suddenly brushed one hand against Severus' cheek. "You look like him." He said softly. He titled Severus' face, just slightly, "He hated me at the end."

Severus swallowed because this was all a little bit too much for him, and he wished there was some way he could fix this situation. "No. He could never hate you." That much was true. He could never hate Albus.

* * *

><p>Severus switched the lights out and moved away from the bed, leaning instead on the doorframe. It was just after twelve in the afternoon, and yet, Albus was already asleep. Perhaps sleeping was the best thing for him? His slow, rhythmic breathing brought a sense of relief to Severus and he sagged his shoulders just slightly, letting the doorframe take the brunt of his weight. Now it was silent and he had nothing else to focus upon, the emotions that threatened to undo him every day rose up and he blinked furiously to stop the tears.<p>

_"And so, Harry Potter. You have helped me to find that there truly was a spy in my ranks. I will uncover him."_

_Harry Potter stood defiant, shoulder to shoulder with the one who was willing to risk his life to bring information about Voldemort to the Light. The spy, on the other hand, was slightly less confident. He faced his Master with much bravery, but there was a tremble to his wand hand._

_"I trust you know, servant mine, what happens to those who have betrayed me?"_

The voice seemed almost real inside his head, and he fought to block it out. Why did his memory insist on repeating this one moment to him, tormenting him further, when he lived in the cruel reality that night had created every day of his life?

_A flash of light that seemed to blind them. "I suggest, Tom, that you improve your wards." Albus Dumbledore stood, arms folded, to one side. He glanced towards Harry and his spy and smiled at them, reassuringly, and suddenly the spy felt safer._

_"Not so, Dumbledore — my wards are easy to penetrate, yet impossible to escape. You have made a mistake, coming here."_

_Albus drew his wand and pointed it at Tom, "Is that correct?"_

_"I will still be able to destroy Harry Potter, Dumbledore." Voldemort shouted back. He sounded angry, and that seemed to cheer Albus all the more, "I see that you have discovered that you had an informant in your ranks…all this time…does that anger you, Tom? To know that you were so blind?" He was provoking Voldemort, that was something the spy would never understand… _

_Bellatrix Lestrange decided that provocation was enough — she leapt forward and disarmed Dumbledore with a single spell. He watched his wand fly to one side and did not seem particularly perturbed. Behind him, Harry stepped forward to defend his Headmaster, and the spy lingered, trying to judge an escape route._

His breathing had increased even now, as it had when he had been stood in that room. For, in that moment, Voldemort had looked at him. He had been trying to judge who the spy was, for he was unable to tell from this distance, and he was not foolish enough to give any indication. He did not look away, for his hood and his mask would hide most of him.

But Albus had seen the glance too.

_"I shall destroy you." Voldemort whispered. _

_Harry Potter stood tall. "You will never kill anyone again, Voldemort."_

_Voldemort smiled, half a smile, a cruel smirk. "Is that so?" He pointed his wand and the curse was uttered. Black light, almost iridescent in its appearance, erupted from the very tip._

Severus winced. He did not want to see any of this. It was too painful. He was not worth this.

_Albus Dumbledore leapt forward with more energy than anyone thought possible, pushing Harry out of the way so he hit the ground — and the black light collided with his chest. The spy made his move then, catching Dumbledore before he fell, stunned by the impact of the curse. He saw the Portkey before he truly realised what it was — of course it would be shaped like a phoenix, what else would it be? — He reached out and his hand made contact with Harry's ankle — and then they were gone._

Back in the present, Severus felt the lump form in his throat. He remembered the next part in terrible clarity, every single detail seemingly burned onto the back of his eyelids.

_The Portkey had not taken them to Hogwarts — it had taken them to the Forbidden Forest. Harry turned to see Severus pulling his mask off and cradling the Headmaster close, looking into the unfocused blue eyes, face set in concentration. "Potter. Get help from the castle. Immediately."_

_Harry hesitated. Of course he hesitated. He was not sure whether he could trust this man turned Death-Eater turned spy. Severus raised his head for one moment, "Get help." And this time, Harry obeyed._

_The moment they were alone, Severus rested the Headmaster down against the grass and pulled his wand from his pocket, trying to think of a counter curse that could stop the damage. He knew, perhaps all along, that it was futile. The Headmaster's face was slackened, eyes open yet unseeing for now. His chest rose and fell just slightly, and that was the only indication that he was alive. And Severus knew what the curse was. He knew it better than he knew any other, because he had seen it used so many times, and he could have wept there and then for the pure injustice of it._

_"Not you, Albus, please…" He wondered if perhaps Albus could hear him, would sit up, would laugh at him for being so emotionally dependent and unstable, and would be fine._

_No such thing happened. Of course no such thing happened. "Albus, Albus please." Severus begged, even though he was a man who did not beg, he would never lower himself to such a level — and yet, for Albus Dumbledore, he would do anything, he would give everything he owned…for that was the relationship that they shared._

_But the Headmaster was too far gone. And in that moment, Severus made a terrible decision. He knew what would happen in the future, and knew too that it could not be allowed to happen. So he reached into his pocket and withdrew a single vial, something he carried with him, just in case. He uncorked the vial, dabbed a few droplets of the potion onto his index finger and brushed the liquid across Albus' bottom lip._

_By the time Harry and the Order arrived to help, Severus was sat beside the body, head bowed, eyes closed, one hand still interlinked with the Headmaster's._

_A Headmaster who was no longer breathing._

Severus raised one hand to his cheek and furiously wiped the tears away. He crossed the room and looked down at the Headmaster, sleeping. When asleep, it did not seem to Severus that he was in the state he was. But Voldemort had chosen a curse that shattered the mind, causing what could only be classed as insanity. And Albus was insane. He was volatile, he did not know who he was, and had tried to commit suicide at least six times since coming to live with Severus after the end of the war. He had a fascination with blood, and everything in his world, what he saw through his eyes, was warped. Severus knew all this. He had seen the condition worsen. He had lived alongside Albus in this hell for two months, had been the outlet for all the anger and grief that Albus had warring inside his chest but did not know or understand the reasons for. Everything was out of place in Albus' mind, and Severus did not know how to fix it.

Anyone else hit with this curse would end up imprisoned in a secure ward of St Mungo's. That had never been an option.

He had created the ruse in which it had seemed like the Headmaster had died after the fight with Voldemort. He had died protecting Harry Potter, had pushed him out of the way, and had been buried at Hogwarts. Voldemort had seemed triumphant, but in fact, it had only spurred the Order members on, determined to bring Voldemort down so that they could avenge their dead leader. Harry Potter, especially, had changed — he had wanted nothing more than to defeat Voldemort, because Dumbledore had saved Harry's life and he owed it to him.

The one detail that no-one really knew was small, and yet infinitesimally important. It was the reason why Severus had trapped himself in this tiny cottage. It was the reason why he stayed with Albus even though he did not know how to help. It was the reason why he had stepped in front of Voldemort on that final day of the war and had not flinched. It was the reason why he sat by Albus when he cried and put his arms around him and simply held on. It was the reason he let Albus get angry at him, because he knew no better, and did not flee even when every fibre of his being begged him to do so. It was the reason why he could never hate Albus and would never leave Albus.

The detail, the reason, the one small fact that was so overlooked. The curse had not been aimed at Harry Potter.

And Albus had stepped in the way, knowing all too well what the curse was, and who it was aimed for.

Because Voldemort had been aiming at Severus.


	3. Chapter 3

**Elisus**

_This chapter is unpleasant — especially to write — and I have attempted it several times over the past week, which shows just how hard it has been to write, because normally I can write a chapter in one sitting. However, this one was causing me some difficulties — I'm a little bit out of my comfort zone here._

_Just a little. All right, maybe a lot. Maybe this is a whole other planet for me. But I'm doing it!_

_I'd like to point out - this story does sit on the boundary between T and M rated; it's not got any particularly crude language or sexual content or violence, but it's still meant to be a little unsettling. I may increase the rating after this chapter…we'll see._

_As always, indebted to you all for reading and leaving comments; they are the only way I can improve._

_Yours ~ SS19_

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><p><strong>Chapter Three:<strong>

He was not sure what woke him — stirred him from his slumber — but he was suddenly aware that his eyes were open and he was staring at the wooden cabinets across from him. He raised his head and winced as pain emanated from somewhere within his neck, accompanied by a loud cracking noise. He had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. He inhaled through his nose, knowing that his nostrils were partly blocked by whatever virus was lurking under his skin, brought on by a weakened immune system and general exhaustion. He had come down here yesterday afternoon and had fallen asleep some time during the evening. Something that had once resembled mashed potato, cold and coagulated, lay on a plate beside his head. Mashed potato was something he could make quickly and seemed to agree with Albus more…they had tried more solid foods back in the beginning, but Albus had never been able to keep them down — and also had been rarely able to make it to the bathroom in time. For convenience and ease, Severus just ate whatever Albus had, and he could not remember the last time he had eaten something solid and tasteful, for the mashed potato he created was not delicious in any way, shape or, as he looked at the lumps before him and felt his stomach turn, form.

He stood up from the chair, stretching his back and massaging his shoulder blades with one hand, glancing out of the window as he did so. The sky was clouded but it was bright enough, and he supposed it had to be early morning. He yawned, wishing there was some way he could slip into a warm bed and sleep for what could be all eternity. His body was desperately pleading with him to give up, give in, surrender, and let someone else take the weight of the burden that was too much for him. His mind was inclined to agree with his body, not quite sure how to deal with the trauma of the war itself, let alone someone else's trauma.

But his heart — the one organ Severus tended to ignore for everything else — overruled in this case. If he tried to walk away, as he had done once before, the guilt was terrible. Albus would not even be in this situation were it not for Severus — he would be healthy and sane and still in command for Hogwarts, not imprisoned in some damp cottage on the highest and loneliest of all the Scottish moors with no inkling of who or what he was. The guilt ate away at Severus, warping his own reality, telling him that he could not be anywhere else, he had to do this, alone, because it was his fault. And how could he explain anyway — that Albus Dumbledore was not dead in fact, but simply mindless. How could he look his once friends and colleagues in the eyes and tell them that he had lied, created a terrible ruse, forced them to mourn Albus and bury their leader, cry for him — that was simply not possible.

He threw the plates into the sink and started to pour water onto them, watching the liquid gush from the tap. He turned it off and dried his hand on a towel, not yet feeling amicable enough to clean. But as he looked around the kitchen, he could see dust resting on the surfaces. It was a fine layer of neglect, and he supposed he ought to tidy the whole house. He had never been good at this; brewing was different, he knew to be meticulous there, but this general housekeeping and other such things…his personal hygiene was another…he probably needed a shower, as did Albus, but it was just too much for him to deal with. He was tired, after all, and sometimes it was easier for him just to push things aside.

In the beginning, he had tried so hard — he had stayed awake for days on end, pushing his body beyond its limits, taking potions combined with black coffee until he could not remember what sleep was, so he could sit up with Albus and sit through the tempers and the seizures and the breakdowns. But when his muscles and very skeleton had screamed for mercy, he had been forced to adapt to this — and he had started drugging the bedtime drink he brought to Albus so that he would sleep through the night. It had been a technique brought on by exhaustion and nothing more, but the fact he had been able to sleep for more than one hour had felt so _very _good, and his tiredness had overruled his sense of moral judgement.

Until Albus had, somewhere in the bottom of his shattered mind, realised what Severus was doing. That had sparked much violence and Severus still had the scars down his left side to remind himself of what he had done. So they had moved into what they were in now — Albus was no better, and Severus simply let himself grab sleep when he could and ate when he remembered and left everything else behind.

In his darkest moments, he wished that Albus had simply died. He should have left it. He should have used something stronger than the Draught of Living Death, and had ended this for both of them — he wondered at times if that would have been better, for who was he to condemn Albus to such a terrible state of living? Severus could have been in his dungeons at Hogwarts brewing, something he missed dearly.

He hated himself when he thought like this. His mind was against him, and would conjure memories of when Albus had sat beside a wounded Severus in the Hospital Wing, holding his hand, talking to him and ignoring Severus' ranting, or had comforted him when Severus had had nightmares that threatened his very reality, or that one time when he had picked Severus up from a drunken stupor in Hogsmeade and brought him home and waited for him to return to a sober state. And not once had Albus complained.

He was just a better person than Severus, Severus supposed.

_"I feel terrible." Severus moaned pathetically, head buried in his arms._

_Albus reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder, "I know you do." His voice was kind enough. "Do be more careful, Severus, my boy. Alcohol is dangerous."_

_"So is this headache." Severus murmured, not moving from his position on the bed because he was afraid of what might happen — his stomach did feel incredibly uncomfortable and precarious._

_Albus was tracing some sort of pattern on Severus' shoulder absentmindedly, "Would you like to go back to sleep, dear?"_

_"Don't leave."_

_"And why would I ever do that?"_

Severus smiled despite the fact his eyes were burning — it was moments like that which he clung to, sometimes with only his fingernails as he struggled to cope with the fact Albus could not remember those moments. He exhaled slowly and crossed to the stairs, carrying a glass of lukewarm water, pausing outside Albus' door. He knocked gently, "Albus?" The door was closed, which Severus did not recall doing last night but supposed he must have done. He opened it and stepped into the darkness reinforced by curtains and blinds, "Are you awake?"

It was very quiet in the room, he thought, because Albus had a habit of breathing heavily when sleeping — and he was not known to being silent when he was awake. Something equivalent to anxiety gripped Severus' chest as he fumbled for the light switch, "Albus?"

In the artificial light, he could see quite clearly that the bed was empty. He checked the room twice, suddenly desperately afraid. "…Albus?" He stepped over the threshold into his own room, but nothing here had been disturbed either. He put the glass of water down and looked into all the rooms, the bathroom, the living room, the under the stairs cupboard and even the cellar — "Albus!" This was not good — where could his friend have got to?

He was stood in the hallway when his attention was grabbed and turned toward the front door. A door that was constantly locked — albeit with a padlock and not magic. A padlock that was now lying on the floor, broken. He picked it up and glared at it, how on Earth had Albus managed to break that? Even Severus would have struggled, and he was well known for being able to unlock doors when necessary. There was blood on the gold painted metal. He wrenched the door open, pausing only to pick up his travelling cloak, boots and the knitted scarf Albus had given to him, many years before, wrapping both around himself, tightening the boots around his ankles, and stepping out onto the windy and cold heathland.

Before him stretched only purple heather and a landscape that empty of houses or buildings or anything other than some trees that never seemed to gain their leaves. He called out his friend's name but heard it only carried back to him by said wind. These moors were dangerous — there were steep cliff faces and surprise cliff edges that had claimed lives in the past, Severus knew that from when he had been a child, and wild animals did happen to stalk the most northern points where some humans feared to tread. There were stories and myths and old wives' tales surrounding this area of Scotland and Severus could not help but feel the panic manifest inside his stomach. He had no idea where Albus could be.

He did not even know where to start.

So he did something he had not done in two months. He stepped back into the house and found his wand — his wand that he had sacrificed because he was afraid of the consequences should Albus find it, for Albus no longer had a wand, it had been claimed by Voldemort when Bellatrix had disarmed him, and attempt to use it. He picked it up from the box and held the wooden length, suddenly feeling more safe and secure because he was reunited with his weapon.

He stood outside the house, held the wand in an open palm, and murmured, "Point me."

The wand moved only slightly, pointing in an almost north-easterly point, to which Severus nodded and set off in that general direction.

* * *

><p>While he walked, he was running through what might have happened in his mind — why had Albus left? Had he been gripped by some sudden purpose, and decided to leave Severus and the prison behind? Or did he not know what he was doing? People could get lost out here easily, and Severus was worried that he would never be able to catch up to Albus because he did not know how much of a head start he had.<p>

Why did he have to fall asleep? He should have stayed awake! He should never have allowed this to happen.

An hour before he had been contemplating what it would have been like if he had killed Albus and let him go — and suddenly he wished for nothing more than if he had been able to go up into that bedroom and see Albus — fine, it was not truly Albus, it was something dark and terrible inhabiting a shell of a human being, but it was still…

He was still there…

The wand shifted position in his hand and he adjusted his course to compensate. His feet were sore already and he had been only walking for an hour. The cold was almost biting and he pulled his travelling cloak tighter around himself, the wind whipping his scarf into his face.

_"Happy Christmas, Severus." Albus said softly, producing the gift with a flourish._

_Severus had stared at him, not quite comprehending, "…For me?"_

_"Well, no, I just put Severus on the gift tag for a joke. Of course it's for you my boy! Open it, I like watching people open things."_

The scarf was green and silver — Slytherin colours — and was actually perfectly acceptable to Severus' discerning tastes. Albus had shown much consideration; he had chosen a dark green and a dark silver because Severus preferred darker colours, and the material was soft and warmed with a self heating charm for when it was cold watching Quidditch matches. Severus was hardly seen without it during the winter months.

He stopped himself absentmindedly playing with the scarf and raised his head. Something had caught his eye, a little way ahead of him. Something white on the ground. He quickened his pace and picked it up. It was a shirt, and Severus knew it. A greying nightshirt, quite like the one he had picked up from a pile on the floor last night. He could tell that from the fact his surname was stitched onto the inside of the collar; his mother had done that with every one of his clothes, much to his classmates' delight.

He held the shirt close to his chest, looking around him. He wasn't quite sure where he was, and had no idea how to get home — this area was unfamiliar. When the wind dropped, he could hear a crashing noise — waves. He had to be close to the tumultuous seas — and that meant this was near to the edge of the cliffs. Something that could only be described as terror filled his veins — "No…" If Albus had walked much further…he held his wand tight in his grip and started to run in the way it directed, listening to his heart pound and his feet crush the heather and the cruel voices whisper in his ears, _he's dead, he's killed himself, _and how he tried to block them out.

It was the trousers that stopped him again. He picked them up too and chewed his lip anxiously, calling out, "Albus?"

No answer. The waves were louder and the wind had picked up, now more like a gale, and walking was harder. He was shivering, although if that was fear or cold, he was not quite sure. "Albus…" The fact that he had found a shirt and trousers did not bode well — considering it was nightwear, and that meant very little was worn by his friend. He would surely catch his death simply from the chill…

He carried on walking, buffeted by the wind, stumbling against its powerful force, spotting the edge of the cliff and staying as far away as he could.

_"Do not go walking alone, my little Sev, because people can die on those cliffs. You must never go near the cliff edge when we are here, do you understand me, my darling?"_

_"Yes, Mother."_

Suddenly, the wind dropped. It was gone. There was absolute silence. He could not even hear the waves. He froze where he was stood as the wand in his hand jerked hard, telling him he had found what he was looking for.

But he already knew that. He could see it.

Albus, stood with his arms outstretched, on the edge of the cliff, looking down.

He was about to jump.

* * *

><p>"Albus!" Severus shouted, stepping forward, shoving his wand out of sight, "Come away from the edge!"<p>

Albus did not seem to hear him, arms still outstretched.

Severus was not sure what to do — he did not want to force Albus over the edge — "Please. Albus. Come away."

"Why?" Albus answered, not to Severus, but just one word, a question, that seemed to be a response.

Severus swallowed, "Come back. Please, please come back." He neared him, able to see the goosebumps that had risen on that bare skin and feeling terribly afraid, "We can go home. It's warmer at home. Please…"

"I want to fly."

Severus heard the words and gripped the clothes in his arms tighter, fingernails driving into the material and through to the other side, marking his palms, "You want to fly?"

"Like a phoenix."

That was the first time he had mentioned a phoenix in the time they had been at Severus' cottage — Severus would have hoped that would have been a good thing, but here, it could not possibly be. "If you come home, we can find Fawkes, he can visit — your phoenix, he misses you —"

_"_I am a phoenix." Albus murmured. "You say that. A phoenix."

Albus had the nature of a phoenix, that was correct — but he was not immortal, and Severus couldn't help himself remembering that cruel fact, "Come back. Come away from the edge."

"Do you think it hurts?" Albus whispered. "Dying?"

"Just take a step back and then we can talk about this."

"Everything is so confused. Everything hurts. I think I'd like to fly."

"Albus!" Severus shouted, "I can make you better! I can make you fixed, just please, come back."

"You made me like this." Albus responded, and for a moment, he glanced toward Severus. "Captor."

Severus flinched at the title but pressed on, taking another step forward, painfully aware of how close Albus' feet were to the edge and the rocks below, "Let's go home, Albus."

"I don't want to."

"Please. Please, Albus, don't…let's go home." Severus knew he was begging, knew it was pathetic, but he could not think of what else to say. "You're cold, Albus, let me put my robe around you, it will help."

But when Severus came a little closer, Albus moved away. Severus could see the tiny bit of stone crumbling away. He wasn't comfortable this, he hated heights, hated being so close to the cliff, "Don't. It's dangerous. I told you that the cliff edge was dangerous, Albus."

Another pause.

"If I put my cloak here, will you put it on? Please, you're worrying me, you will get very cold." Severus undid the clasp at the top of his cloak and pulled the travelling cloak away, laying it close to Albus. Albus watched him, Severus making sure every movement was slow and steady and unthreatening. He stepped back, stepped away, and Albus clearly accepted that Severus meant little harm. He picked the cloak up and put it around his shoulders, but did not move from the edge. "Come and join me." He said, voice gentle. "It's a nice view."

Narrowing his eyes, Severus wanted to shake his head, because that was far too close to the edge and his stomach would not be able to stand it. "I'm afraid of heights." He submitted as his excuse. "Would you come away now?"

"Give me my clothes." Albus suddenly answered, "But stay there."

It was clear Albus was in one of his phases in which he believed Severus was the enemy, and at home, Severus would have known to keep his distance. He nodded, throwing the clothes over to Albus, averting his gaze as Albus quickly put them on, showing more strength than he had in several days. Albus remained by the edge, however, holding out one hand to Severus, "Come here."

Somewhere something inside him seemed to scream, _No!_, but he ignored it and crossed to Albus, taking the fingers and feeling Albus' close around his. Severus felt his stomach turn as he had predicted, looking down at the large waves and the pointed rocks and wishing more than anything Albus would take a step back. He took in a breath steeply, "Let's go home." He murmured to Albus, "Can we please go home?"

Albus shook his head, "Not yet." His grip on his hand was quite tight, Severus reflected, and could feel his palm starting to get damp. "Why are you here?" He asked, "Did you want something?"

"I want to be able to be free." Albus answered simply.

Severus didn't like the tone of voice — he had been with Albus long enough to know most of the nuances and facets of his mentor and friend — and this was starting to worry him more. "How can I do that?"

It happened quite suddenly after that.

One moment, Severus was beside Albus. The next, Albus had grabbed him and knocked him backward — not over the cliff completely — but so his back hit the ground and his body was half dangling over the edge. Startled, Severus tried to grip the grass but Albus pulled his claw like fingers away and held onto them instead. Severus looked up into the wild eyes of his once mentor and closest friend and knew that if Albus chose to let go Severus would have little chance of grabbing anything. He glanced behind and could see the rocks and the waves, "…Albus…"

"If I want to be free…all I have to do…is get rid of you."

* * *

><p><em>I thought I'd leave it on a real cliff…hanger…*evil laugh* ~ SS19<em>


	4. Chapter 4

**Elisus**

_Never have I come across a story so difficult to write, with such treacherous territories, like navigating the stormiest of seas. But I am going, still, and things will be resolved. That's an SS19 promise._

_~ SS19_

* * *

><p><em>One moment, Severus was beside Albus. The next, Albus had grabbed him and knocked him backward — not over the cliff completely — but so his back hit the ground and his body was half dangling over the edge. Startled, Severus tried to grip the grass but Albus pulled his claw like fingers away and held onto them instead. Severus looked up into the wild eyes of his once mentor and closest friend and knew that if Albus chose to let go Severus would have little chance of grabbing anything. He glanced behind and could see the rocks and the waves, "…Albus…"<em>

_"If I want to be free…all I have to do…is get rid of you."_

* * *

><p>Severus could hear the wind whistling violently around his ears, his black hair whipped across his face as he tried to calm his pounding heart and somersaulting stomach. "…Albus…"<p>

"You…did this…" Albus hissed, his hands tightening around Severus' wrists, nails digging into the tender skin. Severus winced and swallowed, "Please. Give me a chance…"

Albus did not seem to be in a particularly merciful mood, "You are the captor. I could destroy you."

Looking into Albus' eyes, Severus did not disagree with him. He twisted his wrists painfully, "Albus, how about if we go home? We can talk about this there." He was well aware that he was starting to panic; Albus had been dangerous before, but never to an extent like this. He was far beyond the realms of Severus' control here, and Severus was not keen on being in a situation where he could not predict what would happen next. He could not reach his wand - and even if he could, would he really have been able to point it at Albus? What would he have done, anyway? Stunned him? No. He would have to trust in the fact Albus was a good person at the heart, inherently so - and once upon a time, he had loved Severus. Loved him dearly.

_"Make sure you come home to me, Severus."_

_"Do not be so sentimental. We are at war."_

_"I know we are at war, and I will not lose anymore whom I love. Thus I will not lose you."_

"Albus." Severus tried again, "…Please."

Perhaps it was his rather pathetic begging, or the fact he was pleading with Albus, or the fact Albus had him in such a dangerous position - but he thought he saw something soften in Albus' eyes. "Albus?"

"I know you." Albus whispered, dropping one of Severus' hands and stroking his cheek instead. Severus grabbed the grass with his now free fingers but did not flinch away, determined to make some sort of contact with this man, who may have been his Headmaster after all. "Yes. You do. I'm Severus."

Albus shook his head, and Severus was startled to see tears appear in his eyes, "Severus is dead. He died. I saw him die."

Severus was not even sure where this image had come from - because he had not been close to death in Albus' presence ever - injured, yes, but never dying. Why was Albus so convinced that Severus was dead? He looked back to the drop behind him, "Could we move away from the edge?"

Albus looked at him, "Why did he have to die?"

Albus' hand, still clenched around Severus' wrist, was painfully tight and slightly damp now. Severus was trying to ignore the questioning and instead returned his gaze to Albus', playing his ace card, the one excuse Albus had never been able to deny. "…I'm scared, Albus. Please, I'm frightened of heights. Can…can we please move away?"

"He was so brave!" Albus shouted suddenly, and Severus felt his heart jump in his chest as Albus moved abruptly and Severus came ever nearer to the edge of the cliff. His fingers wrapped around Albus' in some futile attempt to cling on, "Who?" His voice was slightly hitched, and he was disgusted at himself for showing such fear. But heights…heights were his mortal enemy…

"He died so bravely! He took him from me. Tom. The blood. There's so much blood." Albus was half whispering to himself, and Severus wondered if perhaps this was some sort of internal monologue that he was no longer invited to be a part of. He was out of his depth here - what was he supposed to say? Albus did not believe he, Severus, was Severus Snape at all - although Severus desperately wanted to know _who _Albus thought he had pinned beneath him at this present moment. "Albus. Who am I?"

And Albus, with those beautiful blue eyes that had once been all knowing and all seeing and all understanding, just looked at him. And Severus saw nothing but incomprehension and unfamiliarity and unawareness and he realised that Albus really, truly, did not know who Severus was.

His heart shattered.

Albus continued to shake his head, rambling and ranting about a person neither he or Severus knew - for he was talking about Severus the hero, Severus the man who had died in battle to save those he loved, Severus who was good and bright and powerful and strong. And Severus, the real Severus, Severus the coward, Severus the man who had condemned the life of the one he loved to this imprisonment, Severus who was unworthy and dirty and _powerless _and weak, realised that there was a very good reason why Albus did not recognise him.

"I loved him so much, I loved him, I should have told him - he was everything to me - so much more than a project, I was truly proud of everything he became - and yet he was taken away from me." Albus' voice was trembling violently, more so than Severus, and there were tears in his eyes and they were starting to streak his cheeks. Severus felt his own eyes burn and he tried to pretend it was the situation, and not the fact he had never felt quite so disappointing. "I can still hear him, in my head, calling to me - my boy -"

Severus was not used to such emotional displays, "Albus. Listen. We can talk about him, when we get home."

Albus stared at him blankly. "Home? And where is home? Home was such a long way from here."

Severus was inclined to agree. "I know you miss him. I miss someone too. Please."

Albus grabbed both of his wrists and pulled Severus away from the edge. His whole body was now back on solid ground, and Severus sat for a moment, regaining his breath and calming his heart. Albus stepped away, away from Severus, away from the edge, back onto the heathland - and there was silence for a moment.

Until Albus collapsed to his knees, head in his hands. Severus leapt up and crossed to him, "Albus?"

But Albus simply sobbed, and Severus just put his arms around him, stroking the grey hair, knowing they were in the freezing cold and most likely endangering their health. But he had never heard anything quite as pitiful as Albus crying - it broke him, as a person - and he simply held on, tightening his embrace, as Albus whispered something about Severus never knowing how much he had been loved.

Severus knew now. That very thought made his breaths catch in his throat.

Albus pushed himself closer to Severus' warm chest, clinging to the front of his robes like a small child. Severus rested his chin against the side of Albus' head and waited out the storm, just as he always did, until the sobs turned to silent and the tears began to ease.

Albus finally raised his head, and looked at Severus. He tilted his head to one side and stared at the younger man. "Are you all right?"

Severus was well aware a tear had fallen from his eye, and he lifted his hand to bat it away - but Albus got there first. He raised his fingers and carefully stroked the tear away, looking into Severus' dark eyes. "You are hurting." He said softly.

Severus was not quite sure how to respond to that. Albus had always been perceptive. "I'm worried about you."

And Albus did something quite unexpected.

He put his arms around Severus. Pulled him close. One hand gently rested in Severus' hair. Severus breathed in a scent that was all too familiar to him. He felt his shoulders shake and something that was most likely a sob forced itself from his mouth even as he tried to fight it.

Albus hushed him, the way he had used to, carefully playing with the dark hair, and Severus allowed himself this one moment of weakness and closed his eyes, hearing Albus' heartbeat and wishing this was reality. He wanted to be the one who needed protecting, not the one who had to protect others. He could have stayed there forever, not moving, and he could have convinced himself that it was real.

For one moment, it was real.

Albus didn't let go of him. "I love you, Severus. Don't ever forget that. I am so very proud of you."

The words were murmured, soft, so Severus thought for a moment that his mind had conjured them - but it had not, they were real, they were spoken, hanging in the air between them.

He looked up sharply, looked at Albus, thinking he would see recognition, Albus seeing him for who he truly was —

But the moment had passed, Albus drew back and looked at Severus with that blank look.

"Do I know you?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Elisus**

_This chapter really took it out of me - my head hurts now, and I need a ginger nut biscuit!_

_Please enjoy!_

_~SS19_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five:<strong>

Albus Dumbledore - if that really was his name, he was not sure what was really in a name, was watching a figure sleeping on the sofa opposite him. He probably was not supposed to be sleeping, but something had clearly tempted him into such a thing.

This man called himself Severus Snape. He was using the same name as Albus' beloved Severus, a man who had been stolen away from him by the war and the hate and blood - and this man was not Severus. Severus was noble and strong and could fight - this man was weak and cold and his nose was too big for his face - and Albus hated him.

Albus could never hate the real Severus - the real Severus had given so much for him. He stared at the figure sleeping opposite him, and came to the conclusion he had to be a jailor in disguise. That must be it - there had to be a potion - he had seen the other making potions, sometimes, a long time ago, that could alter physical appearance - and this was a new kind of torment, imprisoning Albus with the shadow of someone he had truly loved, a son-like figure who had once been a protege and had become something much more important than that - part of Albus' very world, his very soul.

Someone was impersonating him. Someone was trying to be him. That was unacceptable, and he would have to be dealt with.

It was always hurting, in Albus' world. He was so very tired - and he could see things, shadows, at the back of his mind, and he tried to cling to them, to find them, to resurrect them - and yet, they slipped away from him. They were always slipping away from him. Phantoms of a life he did not really remember. But the pain was very real - it hurt to move, to think, to feel, to plan, to…why did it have to hurt, so much? And he was forgetting things, the people who had once filled his life -

And he was a prisoner. Why had no one come to rescue him, yet, from this shapeshifter who assumed the form of Severus, why had no one come to save him? Had Albus done something wrong? Had he betrayed people in his final battle, and that was why they left him to suffer like this?

He just wanted to go home.

His jailor stirred slightly, something that sounded like a moan combined with a shout startling Albus even as he watched him. The skin was far too pale, the hair too uncared for, and he was covered in scars - he could not be human. There was no way. Albus wondered if he was a demon - how could you kill a demon - was that even possible? Was it fire, or water?

He had loved Severus, would have done anything for him, would have thrown himself between him and their enemies if it had guaranteed saving Severus' life - but he had lost him, he still remembered crying over the dying body, and being torn away so that they could get him to safety, and they had left the body there, to rot and to decay - and Albus could see that handsome face with the soft skin and the raven hair and the marred yet strong limbs turning to a corpse, trickling away, eaten by creatures of the earth, and there was nothing he could do about it, there was nothing he could do to save Severus, he had to let him go, he had to let him die, and all Albus really wanted was revenge.

But he could not remember who had killed Severus in the first place, who had taken Severus away from him, and although he remember the keen agony, he did not remember…he did not remember.

He wanted to kill the monster who dared to impersonate him, but knew not how to kill him, so would have to find another way.

There were lots of books in this room - he stood, distracting himself from the still sleeping captor, and instead examining the books on the shelves. Old titles, some he recognised, some that stirred emotions deep down, and some that were unfamiliar to him. The top shelf had some books without titles - just black, plain books. He pulled one out, glancing behind him, wondering if he had woken the sleeping figure - but he did not. He opened the book to find it lined with handwriting. It struck him quickly. It was a diary. He ought to put it back, he supposed, because he did not know whose diary it was. But his eyes were drawn to the first entry, anyway.

_May 2nd, 1998 - The war is over, and I can now attend fully to my duties here, with Albus, instead of being torn from his side each day by Hogwarts and returning here each night - finally, I can find a way to repair him, even though I worry that the damage is too great - but once he is repaired, he will be back to his usual self, and I will make sure he returns to Hogwarts. I just have to find a way to explain why I have pretended he is dead._

He stared at the words on the page for a long moment. Dead? People thought Albus was dead? No wonder no one had searched for him! This man had lied, had pretended that Albus was dead, so that he could keep him for himself!

_May 10th, 1998 - Sorry, I have been distracted. Albus' condition has worsened, and I wonder if I should find some professional help for him, because I am beginning to feel out of my depth here. But I can't - they will put him in St Mungo's, and then where would I be, and where would he be? It cannot happen. It must not happen._

He was denying _him_ help! There could have been some way, to save him, to make him better, and yet this man was keeping him trapped here, where Albus could not escape.

_May 27th, 1998 - I considered putting something unthinkable in his drink today - just to allow myself a moment's peace. I understand what I have to do here, but - I just want to sleep. I really, just want to sleep._

_May 29th, 1998 - He was especially bad today - it would have been so easy to slip him something that would send him into endless sleep and free him from this - and I know that's a terrible thing to think, but, I can't stand it. I can't stand watching him fall apart, and if that makes me weak and cowardly and pathetic and cruel - then so be it. I care for him, too much -_

What lies were these? He cared for Albus? That was not true - and here was the evidence that he had tried to kill Albus - and maybe he would try again! But Albus would not let him - no - he would find a way out of here, he would find help, and he would make sure this…this…this Severus…would be imprisoned for his crimes. But until then…he stood again, looking along the top shelf, clearly a forbidden shelf, and his eyes caught on a leather bound album. He pulled it out and looked at the first pages - photographs. A boy and a woman - a boy with dark hair, and similarities to the woman that meant they must be mother and son. It could only be one boy. Was this another trick by this decoy, to torment Albus further, photographs - fake photographs - of his Severus, when he had been a child? He tore the photograph from the album and ripped it in two, feeling some sort of pleasure that chased the pain away. There were others, other photographs, of the boy slowly growing up - never a father in the photographs, always just a mother - and then others, of him in a Hogwarts uniform, one with his arm around a girl with red hair that Albus did not recognise, receiving his OWL and NEWT results - all Outstandings, for the real Severus - and Albus became more violent and more emotional as he remembered the Severus he had lost - and the pictures - pictures he had never seen, pictures of a boy -

"What are you doing?" A voice, from the other side of the room. A voice that trembled, his captor - _Severus_ - had awoken - and was now on his feet, staring at Albus and the ruined photographs, something akin to rage crossing his face - "Give that to me!"

And Albus turned the page, before _Severus_ could grab the album from him, and there was only one other photo left. Albus knew both the people in that picture. He was one. Severus was the other. He had one arm around him, and Severus didn't look particularly uncomfortable - he looked like he belonged there - and Albus stared at it, remembering the memory in vivid detail - and realising everything this man had stolen from him, "How dare you have this?" He spat at his captor, "This is his!"

"It's mine!" _Severus_ shouted back, "Give it back, Albus!"

"Or what? Will you put more poison in my drink?" Albus spat back, ripping the photograph from the pages - Severus wanted to spring forward, but Albus' words stopped him, "What?" His eyes picked up the diary, lying abandoned, "You read…would you give me the photograph, please…"

Albus looked at him for a long moment, "Why are you doing this to me?"

Severus shook his head, stunned, reeling, "Why are you doing this to me? I'm trying to help!"

Albus ripped the photograph into two, and then four, and then eight, and only then was Severus able to rip the pieces from his hands. He pushed Albus, hard, out of the way, "How dare you touch what is mine? Have I not done enough for you, tried to help you, given you my whole life, I gave it to you years before - and you do this to me - can't you see how you make me feel?" His breathing was coming faster now, kneeling, picking up the shreds of the photographs, the shreds of his life, torn at the very seams by Albus and the curse and the shadows that had stolen his Headmaster away from him - "Don't you see what I am?"

Albus had not responded. Severus raised his head, "Albus?"

But Albus had clearly fallen when Severus had pushed him - he was lying on the floor - and there was blood gushing from a wound in the side of his head.

"Albus!"


End file.
